


At Long Last

by bitacrytic



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Failed Seduction, Pining, Pre-Relationship, kissing on the mosaic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitacrytic/pseuds/bitacrytic
Summary: Quentin knows Eliot isn’t sleeping with anyone. He also knows he’s the only guy around that Eliot spends any time with. Which is why he’s wondering how Eliot can look him dead in the eye -when he’s trying to be sexy- and react to nothing.





	At Long Last

Quentin’s tired of waiting and seriously, if they weren’t stuck decades in the past with no one else but themselves, he thinks he would have found someone else to take his mind off of it. But they’re here together and Eliot’s all he’s got. Eliot’s his everything now. His best friend. His quest mate. His roommate. The bane of his existence. His stronghold. His confidant. But he’s also the one thing he really wants to confide _about_.

And it’s driving Quentin crazy.

He’s never been one to make the first move, but he’s had to grow up a lot in the past few months. He’s had to learn everything that he thought would never work for him because there was no one else to hide behind. There was no one to help him with this. He wanted Eliot and there was no one to help him with it.

He tried being sexy. He bent down to do stuff, making sure his butt was facing Eliot. He ate with his fingers and licked it all up. He tried walking around with nothing but a pair of shorts one time and he just ended up catching a cold and had to spend the next few days wrapped in layers and layers of clothes because Eliot was pissed that he would be so fucking stupid.

Quentin knows Eliot isn’t sleeping with anyone. He also knows he’s the only guy around that Eliot spends any time with. Which is why he’s wondering how Eliot can look him dead in the eye when he’s trying to be sexy and react to nothing.

_____

Nope, Eliot is certainly not going down that road again. Quentin is all he has and if they fight about sex, they may never recover from that. They can fight about the quest. They can fight about what to eat. They can fight about the freaking color of the sky. But Eliot is definitely not going to fight about this.

So when Quentin sits in his lap or wears his clothes or laughs too loudly at his jokes or twirls his god-damned hair, Eliot just looks down at him and goes about his day.

_____

“Hmmm’kay! Green!” Eliot says as Quentin kneels, careful that he’s facing away. He knows he has a cute butt. He’s been told several times. Even though he’s already beginning to lose faith in ever actually getting Eliot to make a move, he still finds that he can’t let go of the habit now. He’s gotten so used to it now that every time he bends, he turns away from Eliot. “Green one, there.” Quentin obeys. “No, no. there.”

“There?” Quentin tries.

“No. There.” When Quentin puts it down, Eliot says. “Just kidding, you had it right the first time.”

“You know what? I’ll tell you where I’ll put this.” Quentin says, a little frustrated, but too weak to actually be annoyed. He wants to finish this batch so he can go to sleep. He needs to sleep and he’s beginning to feel like maybe blowing this thing up, like Margo  would have, would be wise.

“Yeah. Come at me, Coldwater.” Eliot says, leaning forward at Quentin in a very flirtatious way that somehow confuses him.

Eliot’s flirting with him.

_Eliot’s flirting with him._

He’s struggling so hard to come up with something equally flirty and brilliant to say when-

“Peaches? Plums?” A girl from nowhere asks, walking right up to the mosaic with a basket of fruits.

And suddenly, the moment’s ruined.

_____

That night, when Eliot’s set up blankets outside and Quentin’s lighting all the torches, Eliot retrieves the drinks and takes a seat right at the centre of the blanket. It’s a frustrating feeling to remember that they’ve been trying to solve the puzzle for twelve months. He thinks about Margo and wonders what’s happened to her. He knows she can handle herself. He’s not worried about her.

He’s more worried that she’ll be worried about him. That she’ll search till the ends of the earth for a year and not find him. It’s been a whole year away from their quest and he wonders what’s going on with it. They have one key with them and they’re yet to find another. So even if the others do find the other keys, they’ll still be short two whole keys. And that, on its own, was fucked up enough.

But a part of him remembers that Fillorian time is silly and they may have been away for year, but when they were done and stepped through the tree back to earth, they would have actually been gone for two seconds. They’d have the keys and an adventure to tell of, but they’d be themselves again.

Deep in thought, Eliot startles out of it when Quentin sits next to him, practically gluing their bodies together as Eliot raises his eyebrows at him.

Quentin blinks at him, a look of worry on his face as he shifts away just a little, hoping to pretend he hadn’t been trying to sit on Eliot again.

“Wine?” Eliot asks, unable to conceal the fond smile on his face.

“Yep. Yeah. Yes.” Quentin says, taking the cup from him.

“Happy Anniversary, Q. to our first and last year at this thing.” they clink their cups together and drink.

When Eliot drops his cup back on the blanket, he wonders where they’re going from there. He wonders what would happen if they spend another twenty years before they solve it. He wonders if they’ll revert back to their younger selves when they return or if they’ll have to be the old men of the group. He wonders-

“Hey.” Quentin says. “Hey.” Eliot looks at him. “I- um-”

He raises himself and kisses Eliot right on the mouth.

Eliot’s stunned as he watches Quentin sit back, his head tilted in supplication. He’s hinted and tried his best to be as shameless as he can about wanting Eliot, but Eliot never thought he’d get the nerve. Not this Quentin.

But he’s gone and done it. And Eliot can’t help but hate the look of surrender on Quentin’s face as he waits for Eliot to react. He’s had a year to learn about Quentin specifically. He’s had a year to see things for himself that no one else could tell him. And in the moment, Eliot can see this is Quentin’s divine move. Of all the things he could have ever done to get Eliot to want him, this is it.

The shaky, not-so-happy smile.  The head tilt. The tiny shrug. Quentin is giving up. He is throwing it all out there for Eliot and if Eliot does nothing this time, Quentin will take that as his answer forever.

Forever.

It strikes something in Eliot that makes him irk with mild frustration. He loves Quentin. Eliot adores him. But if there was ever a time to let go of his stubbornness, Eliot figures this is the time. He doesn’t want Quentin to give up on him… on them… on something they could potentially share. And he’ll be dammed if he lets fear destroy this thing between them, before they even get the chance.

As the realization rushes through him, Eliot finds himself leaning forward as he slips his hand onto Quentin’s neck for a kiss that -if Eliot is being honest- has been, too long, coming.


End file.
